


Dream A Little Dream

by cantonforking



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-10
Updated: 2012-05-10
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:42:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantonforking/pseuds/cantonforking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Warning:</b> Sex scenes, language and mild violence.</p><p><b>Disclaimer:</b> These characters do not belong to me sadly. But Armando is still alive.</p><p>Written for the prompt ‘Alex is dreaming of Armando... or are they more than dreams?’ Originally posted <a href="http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/2439.html?thread=1478535">here</a> on xmen_firstkink.</p><p>Alex has seen more people die than he wants to remember. With a mutation like his, death is his constant companion. Never before has he been this haunted. Armando walks in his dreams and Alex doesn’t know how to move on, he doesn’t know how to adapt. When the dreams start to change, Alex finds himself trapped between the question of his sanity and the war that isn't going to wait until he’s ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo this was written a while ago and it took me forever to finish then put up here but oh well, *le sigh*. This is entirely movie!verse because I really haven't read as much X-Men as I should. There is not even the slightest hint at any kind of logic or scientific reasoning and for that I apologise.  
> As always, Rosie (my beta and sister) you are fab.

  
Part One

 

 

_ It's stifling hot outside, fry-an-egg-on-the-roof hot. Or is it on the sidewalk? Either way, it’s hot. Charles has decided that the heat is too unbearable to train in and that’s why Alex is currently lounging on one end of the couch, Sean on the other, Armando between them. All the windows are open and a weak breeze is sighing through the room but Alex can still feel an uncomfortable burning heat where Armando’s hand is wrapped loosely around his ankle. _

_ “Darwin?” The hand squeezes lightly in reply. “If you adapt, why are you still so hot?” _

_ “Ha!” A half-hearted cry of triumphant came from the other end of the couch. “I knew you fancied Darwin.” _

_ “Shut up, Sean,” they reply in unison. _

_ “No, seriously,” Alex continues, pressing his free foot into Armando’s thigh. He instantly feels heat radiating through the mutant’s jeans. “You feel like you’re burning up.” _

_ “You make it too easy.” The interruption from Sean goes unacknowledged. _

_ “I don’t know,” Armando murmurs. “I feel kind of ho-” The end of his sentence is cut off by a choked sound. _

_ “Darwin?” The man in question is staring back at Alex, eyes wide and fearful. “What’s wrong? Armando?!” A sharp jolt of pain shoots through Alex’s ankle and he jerks away, hissing at the burning heat. There is a bright red mark tracing the outline of a hand on his skin. _

_ “Alex.” The word is broken and jagged. Alex can’t look up, can’t bear to see what he somehow already knows is there. “Alex…” _ _ But he has to.  _

_ Armando is still staring at him, shock traced into every line of his face. Under his skin a red light glows. Then it’s caked over by cracked rock as Armando’s power reacts. His hand is reaching out for Alex and the blond wants to move, wants to reach back, but his body has stopped obeying his commands. Then Armando is crumbling, disintegrating, collapsing into dust.  _

_ Alex is reaching out but Armando is already gone. _

Alex jerked upright, eyes snapping open. A hand was already covering his mouth to hold back the yell that wanted to escape. Years of being tossed from foster home to foster home had taught him to hide any nightmares that would spawn an inquisition. He sunk his teeth into his finger and willed himself not to make a sound.

\------------

He didn’t go back to sleep; he was too nervous – not afraid, none of them could afford to be afraid – of what his dreams might hold. Instead he lay in bed, watching the darkness writhe in the thousand dots of light behind his eyelids. In his chest there was a deep ache, like a fresh bruise that would be the colours of sunrise the next day, but he didn’t think about it, couldn’t think about it. Armando was gone. There was nothing useful in Alex’s thoughts of him; nothing to help them win the war.

And that, that was a useful thought: the war. It was a war that could not be defined because it was a war between too many sides. There were the Russians, directed by Shaw, doing what they believed they must. There were the Americans, controlled by Shaw’s puppet strings, doing what they believed they must. There was Shaw himself, with an army so small but influence that stretched too far.

And then there was Charles Xavier and his rag-tag band of mutants, most too young or innocent, like Sean and Hank, to have felt the panic of violence. Half of them were children learning to be soldiers and the other half were soldiers learning control.

Erik belonged in war, his anger and pain melting into the background of destruction and desperation. Unlike so many, he fitted in as a soldier on the battlefield, a warrior in nature rather than patriotism. Perhaps it was something that he’d been moulded into, pushed and prodded until he couldn’t find a different place in the world.

Unlike Erik, Charles didn’t thread into the tangle of conflict. He didn’t blur into the background. Instead he stood in sharp contrast to the chaos, calm and collected, orders falling from his lips as easily as screams came from others. Charles belonged behind his warriors, the commander who understood strategy, who guided his men through the mortal maze of violence.

Erik and Charles were so different and perhaps that was what drew them together.

Alex wasn’t like either of them. It’s not that he didn’t belong on the battlefield, because he did. His only ability was destruction. Really, Alex was born to be a weapon. 

But he didn’t fit in like Erik did. Alex was a reluctant recruit, a dangerous liability who had always obeyed orders because he never wanted to hurt anybody. In the end he was the perfect soldier, waylaid by a conscience, a pawn whose opinions were disregarded.

And Armando. He was neither the calm commander nor the guilty soldier. Armando was the guardian, the protector. He was the first into battle, the one who would always stand between his friends and whoever their enemy might be. 

Armando, who adapted to survive so he could make himself a human shield. Armando, whose fingers stretched out to Alex as his body exploded into light. Armando, who was dead because of Alex.

The wooden floor was cold against his feet but he couldn’t stay in the warm cocoon of his bed any longer. His thoughts were a jumble in his mind and with them came glimpses of his dream; Armando’s skin burning hot against his ankle; Armando’s hand reaching out for Alex.

Dawn was creeping onto the horizon, light just starting to outline the world. He pulled on his tracksuit, slipped out of Charles’ mansion and set his feet on the dewy paths. He ran until he couldn’t breathe and then he ran further. 

Eventually his thoughts began to settle, marched carefully back into place, ordered by the ‘thump-thump-thump’ of feet against the ground. As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the mansion began to wake. Alex sat on the back porch, listening to the world wake, and, in his mind, Armando was sitting next to him.

\------------

_ They're on the couch again but today it’s unbelievably cold. Alex is convinced that somewhere there’s a mutant with weather powers messing with them. Sean has managed to doze off, lost beneath every single blanket they managed to find. Alex and Armando could not be further from sleep, pressing together to try and catch a little pocket of warmth between them. _

_ “This is r-ridiculous,” Alex mutters, wincing at his clattering teeth. “W-weather man said it would be the same as yesterday.” _

_ “Yeah and w-when has he ever lied?” Armando’s mutters sarcastically. “I’ll g-go and see if P-p-professor can turn some kind of heating on.” Armando jumps to his feet, arms wrapped tightly across his chest. Before he can really think about what he is doing, Alex reaches out and grabs Armando’s jacket, clinging tightly to the fabric. _

_ “Don’t.” Something is clenching his insides, an unprecedented fear, the dark feeling that if he lets go now, he isn’t going to see Armando again. “Just d-don’t.” _

_ “Hey, r-relax man,” Armando says with a confident, if shivery, smile. “I’ll be right back.” For a moment Alex hesitates, that uncertainty still slithering down his back. Then finally he relents with a nod, drawing his arms back around his chilled body. _

_ Armando takes two steps and then explodes in a ball of burning white light. _

Alex woke with Armando’s name on his lips, coloured dots bouncing in his vision.

\------------

_ The sun is a million miles away and probably a million more. Alex doesn’t know exactly but he thinks Hank probably does. It’s a gigantic ball of burning gas and that’s about all he knows. It’s also the world’s heater. His skin, the ground beneath him, the patch of flattened grass beside him where Armando was lying two seconds ago; everything is warmed by the sun’s golden glow. _

_ “Come on, Alex.” There’s a teasing edge in Armando’s voice and a foot nudges his side. “Don’t tell me you’re going to laze around all day whilst we do all the work.” The foot digs harder into his ribs and he automatically curls away. It’s not painful, just ticklish but it would mean death if Armando knew his ticklish tendencies. _

_ “Dick.” A hand drops down out of the glare of the sun and Alex takes it, smile widening into a grin. Armando easily hauls him up, their shoulders bumping together as the younger mutant finds his balance. There isn’t even a moment to breathe before Armando is heading across the field, calling back over his shoulder for Alex to hurry up. Shaking his head in amusement, he jogs after his friend, blinking sunspots from his eyes. Idly he glances down at his clothes, checking for grass stains. _

_ When Alex’s gaze returns to Armando, the older mutant is stretching out a hand to him as he crumbles into a pile of stone. _

Alex’s cheeks were wet when he opened his eyes.

\------------

_ Somehow Charles has managed to drag a basketball hoop out of the depths of the mansion. It’s old and battered and so hideously rusty it looks like it should fall apart any second. Yet, they have been showing off their dunking skills for hours now and it’s still surviving. _

_ Alex is by far the best player. Juvie didn’t offer many options for rec time. Armando isn’t too bad, even if he is using just a little touch of his power every now and then to run Alex in a circle. The blond doesn’t mind, just laughs until he has to stop and catch his breath.  _

  
_   “Are you sure you can take the pressure, Alex?” Armando is grinning widely at him, crouched ready to defend the basket. “This point wins the game.”Alex just winks. Then he’s off, feinting to the right before dodging left, around the outstretched hand. Darwin drops back, probably giving up and Alex reaches the five-point line. Shoots. Scores. Game over. _

_ When he turns around Armando is lying on his side, arm stretched out, eyes blank and unseeing. _

A sob escaped when Alex dropped out of the dream.

\------------

_ They are in the room the CIA assigned them. Alex is sitting on the floor next to the couch where Armando and Angel are sitting. Sean is on the chair opposite, Hank and Raven sitting on either end of the second couch. Alex is on the floor because the last chair has been claimed by various bottles of alcohol that Raven produced from who knows where. The floor is comfortable enough that he doesn’t really mind. _

_ A hand nudges his shoulder. Twisting slightly, he glances behind him and Armando explodes in a ball of red energy. _

Alex woke in the silent mansion, hands balled into fists.

\------------

_ “Stop. I’m coming with you.” _

_ “Alex. Do it!” _

_ Armando is reaching for him. _

_ Armando is dead and there is nothing to bury. _

Alex opened his eyes and punched the pillow until the tears came.

\------------

Alex went to sleep.

Armando died.

Alex woke up.

Armando was still dead.

After a while Alex stopped sleeping.

\------------

Eventually the others started to notice that something was wrong. Alex wasn’t one of those impossible people who still managed to function normally on half the sleep he should really get. Instead he was one of those people who got more and more difficult the longer he was awake. Miss two hours sleep and he was grumpy. Four and he was dismal. No sleep at all and you would do best to avoid him.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t work, he was still training just as hard, but what little social skills he had abruptly vanished. Insults came easy and unfiltered from his mouth and he was quick to anger. Unfortunately for the other young mutants, they received the full blast of Alex’s irritableness. It didn’t take long before they were avoiding him whenever possible.

In the end it was Charles who confronted him. They had been training in the bunker when Alex had shot a particularly vicious insult at Hank. The scientist had simply closed his eyes behind his glasses for a moment then moved on. Charles, however, had sent a sharp glance at Alex and he heard the professor’s voice in his head. 

_ ‘My office, after training _ .’

Charles had converted a small, slightly dusty room on the second floor into his office. Nobody was surprised to notice that Erik spent more time there than anyone else. It wasn’t uncommon to be heading to the library only to be met by someone else running in the opposite direction with a disturbed look on their face. 

The office itself was furnished mostly by old furniture and personal effects which were probably once the property of Charles’ parents. It had a number of comfortable looking chairs, a desk and a chess set that was laid out on a small table in front of the fireplace. Shelves of various books, awards and picture frames lined the walls, making the room seem smaller than it actually was.

“Sit down, Alex,” Charles offered, gesturing to the chair set out before the desk. Alex dropped easily into the chair, trying not to let his face give away the tension in his clenched hands.

“What’s up, professor?” It was a filler question. Both of them already knew the answer but Alex was notoriously periphrastic when it came to sharing and caring.

Charles gave a heavy sigh, relaxing back into his chair. “From what I can tell you haven’t been sleeping and it’s making you irritable and generally unsociable.” His voice dropped to that patient, fatherly tone that fitted him so well. “There’s no need to read your mind to see that there is something wrong.”

Alex turned away from the older mutant, clenching his jaw and staring resolutely out the window. This had never been his kind of conversation. That awkward ‘tell me what’s wrong’ atmosphere was never somewhere he was comfortable.

“Look at me, Alex.” As always, the blond obeyed. There was worry on Charles’ face, a patient concern swirling in his eyes. “You don’t need to tell me what the problem is. Just know that you are among friends now. Here your weaknesses will not be used against you.”

Alex jerked away at Charles’ words, knowing what he was referring to. In juvvie, you had enemies but you never had friends. You had allies and people who didn’t care about you but any of them could turn on you. If they found one tiny gap in your armour, just one weakness, everyone would be the enemy.

Alex could still remember the first time he had been taught that important lesson. It had taken him a week before he could move without pain. After that he stopped caring who he hurt in that Hell of metal bars and concrete walls.

“You probably don’t want my advice,” Charles said, cutting through Alex’s memories with a wry smile. “But you’re a strong man Alex, a lot stronger than most of us. I think if you faced your problems you wouldn’t find them as hard as you think they are.”

Silence settled over them for a long moment, Charles watching Alex and Alex watching his hands. The older mutant reached out, gripping Alex’s shoulder tightly. “It’s okay to be afraid, Alex. It’s okay to be happy or sad or feel anything apart from anger. You’re safe here.” 

A wave of gratitude washed over Alex then. This strange man, this strange Charles Xavier, he had dropped into each of their lives, stood them up, brushed them off, and then whisked them away to a new life. A better life. A life where Alex truly did believe that he could be ‘safe’. 

The young mutant turned his gaze to the window and didn’t trust himself to speak.

\------------

 

Night settled over everything, heavy and unwieldy. It drew sleep out from the shuttered corners of Alex’s mind like honey drawn from a flower. It had been almost two weeks since he had managed more than half an hour of dozing a night. The allure of sleep was almost overwhelming, spinning his head and dragging at his eyelids.

He wanted to give in. More than anything he wanted to sink into the black pit of sleep and let the world fall away, but he knew it didn’t work like that anymore. The world didn’t let go of Alex that easily. The memories would filter in through the vents and infect his dreams. He would sleep and he would watch Armando die again.

But Charles, the Professor, he believed in Alex. The bunker walls still burnt from his power but he was learning. Charles was teaching him. No one had ever cared about Alex that much before, never enough to try and help him, try and understand. No one except Charles and maybe-

Alex closed his eyes.

\------------

It was dark in the games room, the walls painted shades of red from the curtains drawn across the window. Outside Alex could hear Sean and Hank yelling insults at each other as they played basketball, Raven diligently cheering for whoever happened to be losing. Inside the air was filled with beeps and clicks and the sound of metal against metal.

“Jesus man, you are killing me,” Darwin groaned, watching the numbers climbing up on the pinball machine. His hand was resting lightly on the glass of the machine, a few inches up from where Alex was manipulating the controls with ease.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Alex said with a wry smile. “I’ve had a lot of spare time.” Darwin opened his mouth to reply when a strange thump echoed through the walls of the mansion. There was silence for a moment, then another thump.

“What was that?” Darwin glanced towards the window, his grin folding into a frown. “Something doesn’t feel right.” His hand dragged across Alex’s stomach as he moved away, fingers catching on the blond’s shirt. Flicking the pinball machine off, he turned to follow. Darwin was standing by the window, sunlight turning his face to angles as he pulled back the curtains.

Another thump resonated from somewhere within the mansion. Suddenly Alex realised what was going on. This was a dream. Those words, those thumps, he had heard them before in a different time and a different place. Memories were filtering into his sleeping mind once more but this time he could remember the end, the reaching hand, the blinding flash of white light.

Desperately he tried to run, tried to get to Darwin and warn him or push him out of the way or something. He tried, but, like every dream he had ever had, the ground seemed to suck him down, trying to pull him under. It was like gravity was pounding down on him, refusing to let him move.

“Darwin!” Alex’s voice was hoarse, catching in his throat and the older mutant gave no sign of hearing him. Sunlight pierced through the open curtain as he struggled forward another step, sending sunspots cart-wheeling across his vision. Blindly he threw his hand out in front of him, fighting forward.

Then his fingertips brushed cotton and skin. Without thinking Alex gripped the fabric and pulled with all his might. Abruptly the sunshine cut off and the room lapsed once more into darkness. Thrown off-balance, Darwin stumbled and fell into Alex’s chest. Automatically the blond wrapped his arms around the other mutant, steadying him.

“What the hell, man?” Darwin muttered, pushing away. “What did you do that for?” Alex realised that he didn’t have an answer. How do you explain to a manifestation of your mind that you’re dreaming his death? How do you tell him that he’s dead and it’s all your fault? How do you say sorry to a figment of your memories? 

Somewhere in the back of his dreaming conscience a little voice laughed at him. _You’re dreaming_. _It doesn’t matter what you do. He’s not real. He’s dead. You will never see him again._ Alex stopped thinking then. Instead he pressed his lips to Armando’s and forgot the world.

For a moment the older mutant tensed up, going rigid against the sudden kiss. Then he simply melted, folding his body perfectly into the contours of Alex’s. His arms came up, slotting into the small of the blond’s back like they were made to fit there. Warmth seemed to spread from the places where their skin touched, soaking through Alex’s body until he felt like he was on fire, like he might burn to a crisp.

Just when he was sure the heat would roast him alive, Armando broke the kiss. The fire didn’t die away. It still lingered there, burning under Alex’s skin but it was no longer overwhelming. Instead it was a steady reassurance that Armando had kissed him back. 

Alex stood there for a long moment, staring at the older mutant who stared back, waiting for one of them to say something. The voice whispered in his ear again. _You’re dreaming_.

  Before he could give in to the voice and press his mouth to Armando’s once more, the other man grinned. “So, Alex,” he said in an easy drawl, a cocktail of amusement and affection. “This is what you dream about?”

\------------

Alex jerked upright in bed, the morning sun streaming through the curtain to blind him. Slowly he blinked and waited for the memory of his dream to blur at the edges. It didn’t. Under his skin, the fire still burned.

\------------   
  


 

 


	2. Part One

Part Two

 

For the first time in too long, Alex had finally slept through the night and well into the morning. The soft mid-morning sunshine peeked through the curtains and drew shadow puppets on the wall. Alex sat on his bed, staring at the silhouettes, and trying not to think about the vivid memory of Armando’s lips against his.

 

He wanted to believe that it was just another dream, another episode in the Darwin series, but he knew it wasn’t. Sure, it was still a dream, it had to be, but this wasn’t like the others. He had changed this one. In the dream he knew the ending and he had changed it. This dream was different because in every other one, Darwin had died.

 

Without thinking about it, Alex let his finger trace around his lips. He had saved Armando, perhaps not in the most conventional way. Not in any acceptable way. The older man’s arms had wrapped around him, braced in the small of the blond’s back. No, not in an acceptable way. This was modern times, 1962, but guys didn’t kiss guys, especially when one was a white juvenile delinquent and the other was a black taxi driver.

 

Alex let his head fall forward and thump against the wall. He wasn’t racist or homophobic. Perhaps he had been once, the prejudices beaten into him with social conformity. Juvie had changed that. They don’t care who you are there, you’ll still get beaten to death if you step out of line.

 

So no, he wasn’t prejudiced, but this was wrong. He was supposed to like Raven or Angel or even Moria. He definitely shouldn’t be dreaming about kissing the friend he killed.

 

 _‘So, Alex... this is what you dream about?’_ In his head, the memory replayed in high definition. Alex groaned again, pushing his face into his hands as if somehow he could hide from the confusion in his mind

 

Just then there was a tentative knock on the door and Raven’s voice called through the wood. “Alex?” She was obviously trying to be as quiet as possible, perhaps hoping Alex wouldn’t hear her. The blond felt a surge of guilt flood over his confusion. “Lunch is in the kitchen if you want it.”

 

Quickly he pulled a pair of tracksuit pants over his boxers, leaving the white singlet on. No doubt he needed a shower but it would just have to wait. It was time to burn bridges or whatever that saying was. Trying to be a casual as possible, like he hadn’t driven away every single one of his friends, he opened the door.

 

“Hey Raven,” he muttered and managed a slightly nervous smile. The blond’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and Alex realised she was expecting him to follow the greeting with some kind of taunt. Finally he coughed lightly and her face smoothed out. “So… lunch?”

 

“Yeah, come on,” she said, turning to head down the corridor, Alex in step beside her. “Charles made sandwiches.”

 

“Uh-oh,” Alex snorted. “How is the house still standing?”

 

That startled a laugh from Raven followed by a speedy retaliation; “Like you could do any better.”

 

“You’d be surprised,” he replied with dry humour. “You learn a lot in juvvie.” Raven gave him a doubtful look which he returned with the most innocent expression he could manage, something he had learnt from Darwin. Quickly he clamped down on the sobering thought, stopping the shadows of sorrow from showing on his face. It wasn’t hard. You learn a lot in juvvie, like how to become a hollow, emotionless nobody.

 

“Well I think I’ll just take your word for it,” Raven was saying, throwing a smile over her shoulder “Don’t worry though; Charles’ sandwiches are perfectly edible.”

 

“Good to know.” They fell into companionable silence then, so different from the awkward heavy silence Alex had been causing recently.

 

By the time they reached the large kitchen that doubled as a smaller eating area, Alex was drowning in the hot guilt that had settled in his chest. It got worse when the animated conversation stumbled to a momentarily lull when its participants noticed the blond. Without a word he slipped into a chair next to Hank and snagged a sandwich from the platter in the centre.

 

“Thanks, Professor,” he mumbled, nodding across the table to Charles. For a moment there was stunned silence and Alex ducked his head, feeling his ears redden.

 

“You’re welcome,” Charles replied and he was smiling knowingly when Alex looked back up. “Sleep well?”

 

Alex felt his lips twitch into a smile. “Very.” Their short exchange complete, the table burst into spontaneous conversation, everyone trying not to keep glancing over at Alex.

 

For a moment the blond was sure he heard a voice whisper in his head. _Impressive_. He glanced at Charles but the telepath was engrossed in a lively debate with Erik over which condiments best complemented a good sandwich. He didn’t bother with it, moving on to the surprisingly good food.

 

  It took three sandwiches before Alex decided he couldn’t eat anymore. Sighing heavily, he leaned back in his chair and let the conversation wash over him. It was comforting, listening to the clamour of voices from the mashed-together family. A bony elbow poked in his side as Hank enthusiastically explained something but Alex just smiled at the scientist’s rushed apologies. With only the wispy figures from dreams to keep him company, he hadn’t realised how lonely he had been.

 

\------------

 

Gunfire woke Alex, sending him jerking upright on the slightly wooden mattress. His eyes flew open to take in the darkness of night instead of the emptiness of sleep. It took him a moment to orientate himself before he spotted the strip of yellow at the bottom of the door and remembered: the CIA base, the other mutants.

 

Gunfire echoed again, distant but somehow even more chilling. All but flinging himself across the room, he threw open the door and stumbled out into the bright orange corridor, blinking erratically. Everything was grainy to his tired eyes, like an old movie but with overly-vivid colours, a parody of itself. It was surreal, not quite right, off-balance as though-

 

A hand on his shoulder grounded him, anchor caught on the seabed. Darwin was next to him, face tight and concerned as he half-whispered, "did you hear the shots?" Alex replied with a nod, not trusting his words in the dizzy spin of his head. "I think it was this way." Darwin's hand tugged at his shirt, turning him around and they both set off down the corridor.

 

Alex was suddenly stuck by how cold it was, the concrete sapping  any heat from his bare feet and leaving him shivering. Or perhaps he was shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his system. Or perhaps from that sticky feeling that settled in his stomach, a black mass that was warning him; something was wrong. Whatever it was, he felt off-kilter and strange, as if his skin was the wrong size.

 

Darwin hissed a warning that didn’t quite come out in words. Haphazardly he shoved Alex into a handy alcove that the blond could have sworn was a smooth wall seconds ago. They squeezed in, pressed against each other in the small space that was only meant for one. In the hall feet marched past, steady and unhurried, boots clacking against the surface in perfect time.

 

The men walked in careful ranks, dressed in tight black clothes. They were nothing dark shadows like something out of a Hollywood ninja film. On their heads were strange helmets, bizarrely designed and no doubt extremely uncomfortable. The men seem more like apparitions than solid people, flickering against the walls, not making a whisper of sound beyond the heartbeat clack-clack-clack of their boots on the floor. The world seemed to melt away, the walls no longer solid, until there was nothing except Alex, Darwin and the men wearing black.

 

Alex was about to ask who they was, but before he had the chance a hand clapped over his mouth, warm and heavy. Darwin's eyes stood out in the darkness and he shook his head slowly. They waited like that, breath coming in suppressed gasps that seemed too loud, until the footsteps faded away.

 

"Okay, listen," Darwin whispered, hand slipping from Alex's mouth to press against the wall behind him, the wall that Alex couldn’t feel against his back any longer. "We're behind them now. If we sneak up on them quietly enough then the element of surprise is ours."

 

"Or we could stay here and not die," Alex half snarled, words only wavering slightly. "We're not trained to fight and my power isn’t exactly safe."

 

Darwin snorted. "Stay here my ass." Something fell away then, leaving a hole in Alex’s mind and he couldn’t feel the floor. Everything was gone and the world spun around him. Only Darwin was still there, hand falling to Alex’s shoulder as the world faded away. "They're going to kill the others if-"

 

"This is a dream," Alex whispered and everything rushed back in, a tidal wave of colour, a world reinstating itself around the two of them. They were in the mansion once more, in the room full of games, painted red from the sun beating against the drawn curtains. Armando was still pressed against him, solid and real, so far from the apparition of a dream or the memories in Alex's head. The fire was burning again

 

"Took you long enough." Armando grinned and then he wass kissing Alex, real and solid, not melting away or fading. In his chest, Alex's heart was beating, _clack-clack-clack_.

 

For a long time Alex was almost afraid to pull away, to break the contact that told him the older man was still there. He didn’t want to think about anything, didn’t want to face the fact that this wasn’t supposed to happen, that there should be a pretty girl in this dream, not Armando. It wasn’t that he wanted someone else. It was just society knocking on the door with its expectations in hand.

 

But Alex quickly realised that even in dreams you have to breathe. Armando was smiling at him when they broke apart, eyes looking straight at Alex rather than glancing through him like dream-people did.

 

"Do you know what's going on?" It was the most ridiculous question Armando could ask. It was easier to think now that the world was standing still, now that the colours were softened and no longer the vivid grain of the CIA building. Everything was more solid and believable in that room in the mansion in Alex's head. Even so, he was kissing a man he wished wasn't ash. What was there to understand?

 

"I'm not insane." For some reason they were the first words that Alex thought of. Armando threw his head back and laughed, body arching away from Alex's so that for a second a breath of cold air slipped between them.  
  
"No, Alex," Armando said softly, falling back into place. "You're not insane."

 

"This is all a dream." The older mutant gave Alex a disbelieving look, raising an eyebrow eloquently.

 

“You really think this is a dream?” Casually Armando waved an arm about the room and Alex instinctively tensed at the movement.

 

There was an irrational thought building up, the strange idea that if he Alex let go, Armando would disappear, dissolve into smoke, and the blond would only find apparitions and corpses in his dreams. There was an idea forming at it was crazy and insane but somehow Alex thought that maybe, just maybe, Armando could stay in his dreams like this.

 

“Of course it’s a dream.” Alex clenched his jaw and for a moment he couldn’t look at the other mutant. “You’re dead.”

 

“I don’t feel dead.” There was a small smile on Armando’s face and he splayed a hand against the small of Alex’s back. It was then that the younger mutant realised his own hands had found their way to Armando’s hips. “I feel pretty damn alive.”

 

“Yeah, because this is a dream and you’re a figment of my imagination.” Armando looked strangely offended at Alex’s words, glaring reproachfully at him. “Well it’s true. Either that or I’m going insane. You died. I saw you die.”

 

“So?” Armando shrugged easily. "I adapt to survive." He opened his mouth and Alex knew, was certain that the other man was about to explain.

 

Then a loud rumbling broke through the room. It got louder and louder, shaking their dream world until Alex was holding onto Armando to keep himself standing. Something fell from the ceiling splintering as it hit the ground. Instantly light streamed into the room as the ceiling fell down around them, filling the space with blinding white.

 

"Armando!" Alex tried to fight back against the light, tried to keep his eyes open. For a moment there was the ghostly brush of lips pressing on his, then the light was consuming everything.

 

Darkness. Then Alex opened his eyes and Hank's concerned face floated over his. The world around them was pressed soft with morning light, complacent and solid and real. Alex was back in a world he knew, a place he could understand.

 

"Alex?" Hank's forehead was lined, eyes wide and far too big behind his glasses. "Are you okay?"

 

"Fine," Alex grumbled back, pushing his way into a sitting position. "Could have woken to a prettier face though."

 

Hank stumbled backwards, face reddening as he stammered out an apology. "Professor requested I inform you that you're to meet him in the bunker."

 

"Alright Bozo." Alex winced inwardly as Hank's face fell a little more. Quickly he added, "thanks."

 

"N-no problem," Hank stammered back and, after a moment's hesitation, he darted towards the door. Alex heaved himself out of bed as the door opened and was about to pull a shirt on when Hank's voice spoke again. "You were talking in your sleep, by the way."

 

Instantly Alex froze and tried to sound as casual as possible. "Oh, yeah?"

 

"You kept muttering ‘it’s just a dream’. Then you yelled 'Armando'." Alex's chest caved in and he quietly waited for Hank to question him or laugh or walk away to tell the others what he had heard. "I just thought you should know." The door closed and Alex was alone with his dreams.

 

\------------

 

It was strangely dark in the higher levels of the mansion, the sun never quite making it into the long narrow hallways. Alex wasn’t entirely sure why he was there, hand resting on the doorknob. It wasn’t like this was going to help him figure out what was going on in his head. He’d need a shrink for that. But somehow, lost in a blurry haze of thoughts, his feet had found their way here.

 

For a heartbeat he closed his eyes and wanted to turn away, tried to turn away. Instead he twisted the handle and pushed the door open.

 

It was quiet in the games room of the mansion, tucked away on the left side where trees curled around the windows like a cat's tail, fringing the empty courtyard below. A red velvet curtain was draped over the window when he came in, turning the room a deep maroon, and Alex had the uncomfortable feeling that he was stepping into the belly of the beast.

 

He shrugged the foreboding off and pushed the curtains back, letting the sunlight slip into the room. There was a thin layer of dust on most of the surfaces, the mutants never quite finding the chance to put the small games room to use. Alex had simply avoided the place after Raven had shown them it in on the grand tour.

 

Crouched in the shadows next to the tallest shelf of board games was a pinball machine. Alex took a deep breath and walked over, bending down to plug the machine in. Instantly the game whirred to life, exploding in electronic tunes, a million different beeps and flashing lights of every colour. He almost turned it off again, finger hovering over the switch.

 

Then he was standing and the lights were dancing in stars across his eyes. His hands fell naturally into their positions, and the ball shot off its starting mark. Only half his mind was really on the game, the other half lost in the memories that surged up at the familiar sounds. The prison was all grey concrete permeated with that emptiness that always lingered in the absence of friends. The CIA headquarters was grey concrete and the warmth of a presence beside him.

 

“Jesus man, you are killing me.” Alex spun around so fast he was sure he must have pulled something. Behind him the room was as empty as the prison. Slowly Alex let his head drop, chin pressing against his chest, eyes squeezing shut. This was a bad idea, he knew it had been a bad idea. It was hard enough having the memories in his head but now-

 

A hand fell onto his shoulder, heavy and comforting. Alex stopped breathing, didn't dare to move. Whoever it was, he didn’t want to face them, didn’t want to try and answer their questions.

 

“Hey Alex.” The voice came out of the air in front of the mutant, so achingly familiar. Desperately he forced down a sob, hands gripping the edge of the pinball machine as if the floor might fall out from under him any second.

 

"Darwin?" The name came out in a whisper, more a prayer than a question. The hand on his shoulder gave an answering squeeze. Very slowly, Alex opened his eyes, searching round the room. It was empty. There was no chocolate brown skin or easy smile, just the empty expanse of the games room. He let his eyes slip shut again, taking a shaky breath. "What's going on? Am I dreaming?"

 

“I don't know, man.” Armando’s voice was soft and hesitant. “I’m pretty sure you’re not or you would be able to see me. The last thing I really remember is the ceiling falling down in your dream. After that it's a bit blurry until suddenly I'm in this place.”

 

“This can’t be real,” Alex muttered, shaking his head resolutely. “I’m just going insane.”

 

“Really?” Armando snorted. “You think that’s the answer? You’re the sanest person I know.”

 

“Knew,” Alex corrected, his insides twisting into knots. “The sanest person you _knew_.”

 

“What?”

 

“You’re dead, ‘Mando.” The nickname slipped out before Alex could stop it, falling easily from his lips as if he had said it a thousand times before. “I killed you.”

 

“You did _not_ kill me.” Alex flinched at the sudden anger in Armando's voice. “It was _not_ your fault. Don't try and take the blame from Shaw. He’s the asshole who killed me so don’t give me that guilt shit.”

 

"Yeah, well, I'm sorry anyway." The hand on his shoulder clenched sharply, fingers digging into Alex's skin. "Jesus, okay! Not my fault, got it." The pressure stopped, fingers sliding a little further along, half resting against bare skin at the neck of Alex's shirt. The touch was a peculiar sensation of both cold and hot rolling across his skin where Armando's hand rested. "You're pretty strong for a ghost."

 

The other mutant hesitated before he replied. “I don't think I'm a ghost.”

 

"What do you mean?" Alex frowned. "You're dead and currently talking to me. Unless I talk to dead people, what else could be going on?"

 

“Well I adapt to survive, right, so what if I adapted to survive death?” Alex couldn't stop a snort at that. “Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous but I mean, can ghosts get into people's dreams and-” his hand squeezed lightly “-touch things?”

  
"I don’t know," he grumbled. “I’m not exactly experienced with this sort of thing. For all I know, I’m just talking to myself.”

 

“Back to the insanity thing again?” Alex could practically hear Armando rolling his eyes. “Even mutant powers defying death makes more sense than your ideas.”

 

"So why can't I see you?"

 

“Come on, man.” Armando's voice was amused. “I thwarted death, give me some leeway. It's taking enough effort just to make my hand solid. It's easier in dreams.”

  
  "Uh, speaking of dreams," Alex cleared his throat a little too loudly and he could feel a red flush creeping up his neck. "Sorry about the, you know-" he shrugged awkwardly "- the dreams. I really don't normally do that... To you... In my dreams..." his voice trailed off and frantically prayed that God might choose this moment to strike him down.

  
“Don’t worry about it,” Armando murmured, thumb rubbing in a distracting circle on Alex's collarbone. “I didn't exactly hate it or anything. You can be sure I would have punched you if I didn’t want your tongue down my throat.” Alex let out a surprised laugh at that, blush deepening even as he cursed his body’s reactions.

 

Suddenly the hand on his neck disappeared, leaving Alex's collarbone cold and tingling. Instantly the younger mutant’s eyes flew open but there was nothing to see, just "Darwin?" Alex's voice was embarrassingly desperate. "You still there? Armando!"

 

“I- I'm here.” Armando's voice had taken on a tight, exhausted tone. “Sorry, I couldn't keep myself solid. Talking is easier.”

 

"Oh, okay." Alex paused a moment, trying to wrap his mind around the absurd situation. "What are you going to do? Actually, what have you been doing all this time?"

 

 “Not a lot to be honest. Plenty of sleeping so I don't get too tired trying to, you know, exist. It's weird though, I think I'm attached you somehow cause I can't be too far away from you. Different wings of the mansion is fine but if you leave I basically pass out for a couple of days.”

 

"So what you're trying to tell me is I've got an invisible stalker." Armando burst into laughter at that, the sound almost filling the room. "That's good to know." Charles' voice suddenly broke into their conversation, echoing eerily in Alex's head.

 

_‘Can all of you please come to the lab. Hank wants to try out Sean's new wings and I'm sure we could use a little extra help.’_

 

Alex turned to face where he guessed Armando was. "Did you hear that?"

 

“Yeah, the professor doesn't really limit his broadcast to exclude half-formed dead people,” Armando replied wryly. “I hear everything he projects and man, you do not want to know what he says to Erik.”

 

"Woah, way too much information," Alex said, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he leaned down to flip the switch on the pinball machine. The machine collapsed into silence, the lights slowly fading out until the game was nothing more than a hunched shadow again. "You coming along to see Bozo fail?"

 

“Be nice, jerk.” There was a slight brush on the back of his head as he started across the room. “Hmmm, it's hard to smack someone when you don't have a corporal body.”

 

"Ooo, kinky," Alex laughed as he closed the door behind him and (hopefully) Armando. The games room lapsed into silence, cold and empty. The walls were painted a light yellow but as the sun dropped further down the sky, the yellow melted into grey.

 

\------------

 


	3. Part Three

  
Part Three

 

 

Perhaps if Alex had been thinking about something other than Armando and war he would have found it strange how quickly he and the invisible mutant fitted into a routine. As it were, he was too wrapped up in the constant mantra of _‘he’s alive’_ to notice how easily they slid together.

Armando would wake Alex in the morning, taking permanent residence as a human alarm clock. Every now and then he would make an appearance in the blond's dreams and they would play pinball or shoot some hoops or explore whatever dreamscape had spread out in Alex's head. The blond didn't know where Armando slept and he didn't ask. All he knew was that whenever he had a nightmare, invisible hands would gently wake him and it was almost disturbing how comforting that knowledge was.

During the day Armando would mostly wander about the mansion, sleep taking up less of his time the stronger he grew. Sometimes he would follow Alex around, whispering snarky comments in Alex's ear and trying to make him laugh at inappropriate moments. Other times he would disappear for the entire day and there would be an empty spot at the blond’s shoulder.

But every evening Alex would quietly disengage from whatever task or conversation he was caught in and make his way to the games room where Armando would be waiting. There they would talk until sleep started to pull at Alex, watching the red patterns from the curtains dance on the walls or counting the lights on the machines around the room.

At the start of those evening hours, Armando would press a hand to Alex's shoulder, chest, arm, trying to hold his form until night fell. It took almost three weeks before the clock hit ten and Alex could still feel the warm weight of Armando's hand over his heart. From then on it wasn't uncommon for the older mutant to rest a hand on the back of Alex's neck or nudge lightly against him, a solid reassurance that they were both still there, both still alive.

For Alex, the world had changed overnight. It was as though before he had felt Armando's hand on his shoulder, heard his disembodied voice, he had been stuck in a desaturated life, hollow and traced with static. He had been caught in a fog where the only things left were death and war.

But now there was an invisible angel standing next to him, a voice whispering in his ear, someone he could lean on. Suddenly Alex could breathe, could feel something other than anger and weariness. Like a switch had been flipped, he remembered how much he loved the patchwork-quilt family Charles had built and all its quarrelling, squabbling, laughing. It felt strange to smile so easily.

“It's nice to see you so happy, Alex,” Charles had murmured to him one day, words almost lost in a rowdy debate over whose power was more useful on a deserted island. The telepath nodded to the other young mutants. “They had started to worry about you. I doubt it would have been long before Raven launched some kind of 'cheer up Alex campaign'.”

“He's right,” Armando whispered in his ear, breath dancing lightly over Alex's skin. “I used to follow them around sometimes. Hank definitely worked harder on your suit than the others and Raven was always defending you against insults. They really never stopped being your friends, even when you were a prize jerk.” Alex felt a very unmanly prickle in his eye and dropped his gaze down to his plate, focusing on his half-eaten dinner.

“I'm sorry, Professor,” he muttered. “I wasn't trying to worry anyone.” He glanced up in surprise as Charles dropped a hand onto Alex's shoulder, fingers inches away from where Armando’s were wrapped around the back of the blond's neck.

“Don't be sorry Alex.” Charles' eyes were pools of such genuine sincerity that Alex couldn't help but wonder if the man could ever lie. “You're safe here, remember. It's okay to feel something other than anger.”

Charles held his gaze for a moment, reassuring smile pulling lightly at his lips. Then, completely without warning, Sean was dragging the telepath back into the debate (which had now evolved into 'who would survive being on a deserted island with Sean'), leaving Alex blinking furiously. It wasn't until Charles was swallowed by the debate that Alex felt the phantom thumb rubbing soothingly in the thin hair at the nape of his neck.

\------------

The first thing he noticed was the swirling wallpaper as he walked down the corridor of the mansion. It was getting easier for Alex to recognise dreams, easier to pick up on the small oddities like the moving pictures or morphing walls. It helped that he couldn’t control normal dreams, only ones that Armando visited.

A door at the end of the corridor swung open, and Armando appeared in the doorway. He quickly spotted Alex and grinned widely.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he teased.

“Ha ha,” Alex returned, unable to hold back a grin. “Looks like we're in the mansion again.”

“You would think you'd dream up something more interesting.” Armando ducked the half-hearted swipe Alex aimed at his head. “Up for some pinball?”

“Any chance to kick your ass,” Alex replied, heading off down the corridor.

“Ooooohhh,” Armando called after him. “Big words, Alex. Sure you can follow through?”

  
  “Bring it on,” Alex threw back, breaking into a run. Despite a few foul manoeuvres and close calls, they made it to the games room in one piece, panting lightly and shoving each other through the door. The room was the same as ever, pinball machine already blinking welcome at them. As in all dreams, it seemed like no time had passed before they were three rounds deep and, surprisingly, evenly matched.

“This is a complete upset!” Armando crowed in his best over-enthusiastic commentator's impression as Alex lost his last ball. “If Alex Summers isn't careful he might be defeated by his long time rival, **_Daaaaarrrrrrwin_**.”

  
“Hey,” Alex shoved Armando's shoulder. “It's Mr. Havok to you, _Darwin_.” 

The older mutant laughed at that, head thrown back, neck curved. Abruptly Alex found himself glued to the spot, gaze caught on the older mutant’s smooth skin. Armando’s eyes were bright when he let his head fall back down and he met the blond’s dazed gaze with a quirked eyebrow. Without thinking, Alex took a small step forward and pressed his lips to Armando’s.

It had been weeks since Alex had kissed the older mutant, not since his dreams filtered into reality. There had been something holding him back, that new knowledge that it was real. That he wouldn’t wake up and just be Alex. Instead he would wake up and be Armando’s. It wasn’t that he didn’t want that. He just didn’t think the world would. 

  
The older mutant tensed up for a moment but then his hands were grasping at Alex’s hips, yanking him closer rather than pushing him away. Warmth exploded between them as their bodies aligned, mouths pressing hungrily against each other and Alex forget the world. His arms curled tightly around Armando’s neck as the survivalist dug his fingers into the blond’s sides.

  
“Fuck,” Alex managed to groan out between breaths, mind incapable of forming a longer sentence. Armando didn’t seem to have the same problem.

  
“You’re so god damn gorgeous.” There was a strange lurch in Alex’s stomach at the words, something confusing that neither bad nor good. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the words; he just couldn’t understand why they were being directed at him. “You have no idea how gorgeous.”

  
“Shut up,” he hissed, stomach lurching again. Doubt. That’s what it was. Doubt and disbelief. The last time someone had complimented him like that, the words had been leered between bars. “Just shut up.”

  
“Fuck you,” Armando growled, hands running up Alex’s chest to his shoulders. The blond found himself stumbling backwards against the wall, Armando following quickly behind to press their bodies together again. “I’ll say what I think. You don’t have to believe it.”

  
“I donuhhh,” Alex muttered stubbornly, words degrading into an embarrassing loud moan as Armando pressed their clothed erections together. Instantly any control, pride or rational thinking vanished from the room. With no more than a second’s hesitation, Alex hooked his arms around Armando’s neck and wrapped his legs around the older mutant’s waist.

  
Fingers digging into Alex’s ass, Armando ground their cocks together, pressing the blond back against the wall. A low moan erupted from both mutant’s as electricity charged across their skin at the movement. Foreheads resting against each other, they pressed their mouths together, not quite kissing but more breathing in each other.

  
It was an embarrassingly short time before Alex choked out Armando’s name and came in his jeans, fingers digging into the older mutant’s shoulders. Seconds later Armando followed him over, mouth covering his in a sloppy kiss broken by gasps and moans from both of them. 

All around Alex the world seemed to fade, his perception narrowing down until all he could feel was Armando; his breath, fingers, lips, just him everywhere. Nothing else really mattered except the flex of Armando’s muscles under his hands and the shudders running through his body.

  
Something stupid might have slipped from Alex’s mouth then, something stupid about how Armando felt pressed up against Alex as he fell apart. Something about how it was Alex who made him moan. It was something stupid that he immediately wished he could take back. Then Armando’s face split into a grin and Alex wanted to say it again.

  
But his eyes were growing heavy as they slid down the wall, tangled together. Blackness surged up to greet them and all Alex could do was hope that he still remembered his dream when he woke up.

\------------

 

He did. He remembered everything. The press of Armando's lips, the sheen of sweat on his dark skin, the shudder of his body against Alex's. All of it was there, playing like a movie in his mind, a memory he would never forget. A million thoughts raced across his mind at once, most of them some version of 'don’t worry, it was just a dream'. 

“Alex?” A hand pressed against his face and the bed rocked as a body shifted to press against his. “You're freaking out aren't you?”

“No,” he managed to mutter back, not bothering to open his eyes.

“Yeah, I thought so.” A thumb brushed across his lips gently. “To answer your questions: yes it was a dream; no, it wasn't just a dream; yes, I would love to do that again and no, I'm not a sex-god.” Alex let out a startled laugh with a slightly hysterical edge to it.

“But everyone...” he trailed off awkwardly. There was silence for a moment then Alex realised he could feel breath ghosting over his face. It was the only warning he got before Armando's lips were pressed against his, solid and real, as if he could open his eyes and see the other mutant body against his.

It seemed to last forever, the first press of lips in something other than a dream. If he had ever wondered whether he was insane, whether Armando was really there, he didn't anymore. Alex thought he would drown under the hundred different thoughts and feelings flooding in with the electric charge jumping between them. 

But Armando was pulling away, his breath still ghosting against Alex's cheek but the soft sanctuary of his warmth had disappeared. "Fuck them," he whispered into Alex's skin, hands feathering along the blond’s arms and leaving his hair standing on end. 

With a jolt Alex realised how entwined they were, skin pressed against invisible skin. He knew he should feel uncomfortable about it, the intimacy, the carnal knowledge of another man. It was something that could get him killed, would get him killed, in another place.

Then he realised he didn’t care.

And that was too much, that epiphany. Perhaps it was ironic that it was his complete acceptance of the situation that made him reject it so viciously. He had spent his entire life swimming against the stream, battling to get away from anyone he could possibly care about. Battling to avoid any intimacy for whatever reason and why would it be any different now? It was as though he had been running all his life, only running to what he had been trying to avoid.

Alex’s mind panicked then, suited up in armour and did the only thing it knew how to do; get out. Darwin’s questions and pleas fell on deaf ears, his assurances and certainties not even making it that far. Alex slammed the door of his room and ran.

\------------

The day was spent in covert avoidance of everyone and Alex knew he was blatantly obvious. His friends tip-toed around him, Hank flinching at any sudden moments, Raven shooting him concerned looks. Guilt had taught him a lesson though and he was careful not to lash out at anyone. In his head his thoughts churned amongst scattered memories of prison cells and cruel laughter. 

Afternoon found him lying spread-eagle on the grass, face turned to catch the warm rays of the sun. Inside his head everything had calmed down, thoughts running themselves in circles until they were too tired to hold up in court. With his eyes closed, Alex could almost pretend the world had stopped, time and space suspended around him. Or maybe everything had simply dropped away, left him on a grass island in the middle of nothing.

He could almost pretend. A weight settled next to him, displaced grass brushing the hair on his arm the wrong way. Alex didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Armando, not that he would see anything. Not that he could trust his body anymore. They were silent for a long time, lying in the grass and waiting for something that couldn’t be voiced in words. After a while Alex could feel tension he hadn’t noticed draining out of his muscles, dripping into the ground beneath him.

“’Mando?” Alex’s voice was a surprise to himself and he wasn’t sure that he had another question waiting. Beside him he could hear the other mutant shifting, could feel his gaze falling on Alex’s face. Still he didn’t open his eyes. It had become too painful to constantly search for a shape in thin air. 

“Yes?”

“Do you think Russia will go to war against America?” Neither of them mentioned the replacement of ‘us’ with ‘America’. It was just another thing to be avoided, another truth of wartime to be talked around.

“I don’t know.”

Silence reclaimed her territory between them. Alex was lost in questions in his head, fears of war and what it would bring. He hadn’t always been the most patriotic of men, never learnt every word of the anthem or nodded to the flag. It was hard to love a country when the most you have seen of it is tense households and prison cells.

But now he was a weapon for his nation, a disposable asset of the government of the United States of America. Now he was a pawn in their war and suddenly every other worry in his life seemed so meaningless, so trivial. 

Alex decided to stop caring then. The afternoon was moving on, clouds crawling across the sun. The warmth beside Alex had become the centre of his world, his only companion on that island of grass in the middle of nowhere. He decided to stop caring and rolled over, pressing his nose into the smooth skin of Armando’s neck.

“I’m scared.” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them, weakness spoken aloud. He heard Charles’ voice again, ‘you’re safe here’ and wondered if they were true. Armando’s arm snaked around Alex’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“Me too.”

\------------

They were still lying like that on the grass, one invisible, one playing dead, when Raven’s voice called to them from the house. It was the president’s address. Alex considered not going; he considered simply ignoring this turning point in history, this decision in war. He could just stay there count the stars by night and bask in the sun by day until he starved.

The skin under his slid around until a hand was pressed against his face so his eyes would be shielded from the sun if there was a solid hand there. On a whim he opened his eyes and saw nothing and nothing saw him.

“Come on.” The hand was gone and then skin followed it until there was only one body playing dead on the grass. “We have to go, Alex.” Perhaps he could stay there until he died or someone carried him inside.

“Yeah.” He knew there was a hand offered to pull him up, so he waved his own about until they collided. When he was standing, Armando’s hand slipped to his shoulder, nothing more than a weight to let him know the other mutant was still there. “What are you going to do? If it all comes to war, I mean?”

“I’m going to fight.” The answer came instantly, barely a breath between thought and voice. It was as though Armando had been preparing for the question in the pauses between conversations. Alex had to stop and stare at where he was sure the mutant was.

“But you’re invisible.”

“And?” There was a block in Alex’s head, something he couldn’t think beyond, and it was Armando. It was this man who would fight and protect and die for people he barely knew and a country who ostracised him for his skin. It was a block in his head because Armando pressed his lips against Alex’s and the blond simply couldn’t understand why.

“Come on.”

\------------

They stood in a row with the other mutants, lined up one by one, eyes on the black and white pictures.

“… as an attack on the United States…”

Words were spoken with decisions already made and futures already predicted. Shaw would be there, where the Americans and the Russians met the invisible line in the sea that decided war. Shaw would be there and so Charles’ tiny army would be there. The world was falling and they were Atlas trying to hold it up.

\------------

Erik told them to get a good night’s sleep but Alex couldn’t close his eyes. He wasn’t one to be afraid of the dark or ghouls or goblins and things hidden under the bed. He was afraid of conflict and confrontation but never like this. He’d never faced a war before.

The fear stayed there, even when Armando shoved Alex onto his side and wrapped his limbs around the younger mutant. There was security like that, the certainty of someone watching your back and Alex wasn’t one to ask for help but he needed it. He felt sorry for Sean and Moira, caught in the spider web of solitude.

“Stop thinking.” Armando’s breath ghosted across his neck.

“We’re going to war tomorrow.”

“Exactly. You need your beauty sleep.” Alex didn’t bother arguing.

\------------

It was cold in the morning; a cold sun in clear blue. Mother Nature knew what was coming. There was no eye contact as the house woke because you could see too much when eyes met. Armando didn’t leave Alex and Alex didn’t voice his relief.

The suits Hank left for them felt strange, flimsy fabric against bullets and shrapnel and anything else that might be thrown at them. It felt like nothing more than a hope and a prayer.

“You look good.” Armando’s hand squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “You’re really quite pretty in tight yellow leather.”

“Fuck you,” Alex muttered, smile creasing his face for a moment.

\------------

They lined up again, this time in the hanger. Yellow bowling pins, yellow targets. Hank appeared in blue and yellow and it was the second difference for the day. Things were changing and they had a beast on their side now.

Then it all moved too fast for Alex to keep up, a million orders and decisions, reactions and thoughts. The hand on his shoulder was the only constant.

Their plane was more high tech than all the devices Alex had seen combined, except maybe Cerebro. It wasn’t long before land faded into sea and Cuba stretched before them like the aerial view of a real life game of Battleships.

The ships weaponised, aimed their guns and said their prayers. Orders came through and the mutants watched the war manifest through the Professor’s mind. Alex thought insanity was creeping in at the edges when Sean jumped out of the plane, but then there was a submarine floating in mid air next to them.

After that everything was even quicker than before. It was the world falling apart and crashing on Cuba. As everything screamed and roiled Alex idly thought that this was the first time he’d been out of America. It was a strange thought.

They stacked up after that, waiting to fight or die or both, one by one and side by side. Armando left the carcass of the plane beside Alex, hand on his shoulder. There wasn’t much room to think after that and it wasn’t until Alex was falling out of the sky that he realised Armando was gone.

Everything goes in stages in that strange muddle of mutants and humans. It was fight, capture, fight, capture, flight and flight and fight. Humans were nothing more than bystanders and obstacles in that mutant war, in that mutation of war.

Eventually it stopped. Alex wasn’t prepared for the suspension of time, the sudden silence and stillness. The sand was harsh and gritty beneath his fingers, grating in the spaces where bruises were already forming. He could see everything laid out before him like a chessboard with only three pieces.

Sean was squinting up at him, sand colouring his hair yellow. Angel was nothing more than a dot in the blue. This was the end here, the possibility of the first casualty of their new war. There was a slight ache against his chest, a circle of pain where his suit had been torn apart.

“Alex!” The hand was back on his shoulder, Armando’s voice once more his conscience. “Now! You have to use your power.”

“But-” There were a thousand scenarios running through his head, a thousand possibilities and terrible outcomes bathed in blood.

“Alex!” Suddenly reality gave way and Armando was in front of Alex, urgent eyes locked on his own. The world spun around them but Alex could still see his mutant kneeling in front of him. “You have to use it. I can’t cover you and Sean.”

He stopped thinking then. The power surged up through his body, tingling across his skin, pushing the hairs on end. He tamped it down, thinned it out until there is just enough rolling through his veins, just enough to knock Angel out of the sky. Armando’s hand was still on his shoulder and Alex aimed at the dot in the sky.

Red streaked out, the colour of blood. Angel tumbled to the sand, groaned, and rolled over; not dead. Armando was smiling and Alex could see it.

\------------   
  


 


	4. Epilogue

Epilogue

  


  


Erik called himself Magneto now, something that hurt more than it really should. He hadn’t stopped recruiting since that day on the beach when something had ended and so many other things had begun. More mutants were swearing to his cause every day, forgoing the peace offered by a school for the gifted. It wasn’t quite an army, but it was getting close.

Charles answered to Professor more often than not, spinning in his wheelchair to look up at staff and students alike. The mansion that had once crouched in the dark drapes of solitude now buzzed with new arrivals. Gifted children from all over America came, holding their parent’s hand or a sibling’s or carrying a suitcase that now held their life.

Alex had found it difficult at first, slotting in among many where there had only been nine. Too many times he found himself searching for Raven’s soothing presence in the crowd, or wishing for Erik to make a cynical remark. It would’ve made it easier, but for those they had lost, others came to fill the gaps.

Two months after nine had become five, Charles’ voice leapt into Alex’s mind – something the professor did often, causing a number of embarrassingly girly shrieks of surprise – and told him there was someone waiting for him in his office.

A young man was sitting on the couch when Alex came in, red wraparound glasses planted firmly on his nose. When he saw Alex his mouth twisted into a half-smile, half-sob. They met in the middle of the room and Alex couldn’t stop himself wrapping his arms around his brother.

“Scott.” The breathless word was lost in the older boy’s clothes, the tears that followed similarly whisked away. Any other day Alex might have been ashamed but not with the last of his family returned to him.

It took no more than a day for Scott to settle in to their new foster home. He made friends easily enough, finding common ground with almost everyone he met. None of them laughed at his permanent glasses or called him a freak; not here.

Charles gave him a room next to Alex, and every now and then Scott would sneak in to poke Alex awake. They would count shooting stars together, as Scott had always done when they were carted between foster homes, to remind Alex that he wasn’t the only one made of fire.

It was never just the two of them, though, at least not for long. Armando would slip out of bed and pad across the moon-beam carpet to the window seat where the brothers always sat. He would kiss Alex and laugh at Scott when he raised an eyebrow.

Most days Alex would find himself amazed at how well the duo got on. He always knew that easy-going Armando could be friends with anyone but if he looked close enough, it wasn’t hard to see his brother’s scars. Still, as soon as the pair had met, they had been almost as close as brothers. Had he been a believer, he would’ve thanked God for Armando.

Once visible, it hadn’t taken the older mutant long to slip back into the world, giving answers that always ended in a shrug to questions that wondered at the impossible. Hank and Charles had been the most excitable, the former trying to run a million tests at once whilst the latter was elected to ask the questions. They would always conclude eventually that there was no scientific explanation to Armando’s invisibility that had somehow – fortunately – stretched to his clothes.

In time they gave up trying to find an answer.

When Alex and Armando had taken a single room with a double bed there had been raised eyebrows and uncertain looks. They had been expecting it. You didn’t see many interracial couples, let alone interracial gay couples, but they were mutants. After a while the others at the school realised there was already enough prejudice from the humans. It didn’t help to turn on each other.

Those who still threw names, mostly new students that thought they knew the world, were taken aside by Charles and didn’t pose a problem again. At first the jibes had hurt, digging into the soft flesh where Alex kept his pride and ego. Armando would laugh at his dark looks and offer to kiss it better.

Now the insults were meaningless, just trivial amusement to see who had the best version of ‘fag’. So far no one had beaten ‘faggot fairy princess’, a slice of literary genius offered by a new arrival who had the misfortune of being unable to think before he spoke.

At the end of the day it didn’t matter, not really, and Alex knew that. At the end of the day he slid in between the sheets and pressed his lips to Armando’s until they drowned out the world; until the universe and all its hardships was simply something they survived so they could press skin against skin.

It was stupid and pathetic and sometimes Alex hated himself for it, but deep down he knew he loved Armando. He would never say it, not even dare to think it. He couldn’t face this twist life had brought him but it sat in his chest like the weight of a secret salvation, his greatest weapon against the world.

At night they painted the sheets in sweat or counted stars or simply tangled limbs. By day they taught what knowledge they had, learned even more or put on yellow suits to face the war that Alex suspected would never end.

Then, every afternoon before the dining hall was filled with plenty of food and a lot less conversation, the two of them would slip away to the small gaming room that was somehow always empty. There they would spend an hour or hours, lounging in the sunshine or beating high scores on the pinball machines.

It was paradise; the walls painted blue as sun rays leached the colour from the new drapes Alex had put up and splattered it across the walls. Sometimes Sean or Hank would find them there and linger for an hour or so, letting smiles come easily and fade just as quickly as they are warrant to do in the company of brothers at arms.

It wasn’t perfect. The human world beyond the borders of Charles’ estate had called into session the great debate of mutant rights. Those loyal to Magneto snuck into the gritty grind of political crime and Charles and his newly named X-men did their best to stand between the man they knew as Erik and the humans who hated them all. Some days they would come back with satisfied smiles and some days they would come back carrying each other and leaking blood trails.

It wasn’t perfect. Alex traced a scar along Armando’s back, the grey line like a mountain range over his brown skin. It started just below his shoulder blade and etched in a curve over his ribs. Alex chased it to the bottom rib before Armando jerked away.

“That tickles, jackass.” His voice was muffled by the pillow and sunken by the remnants of sleep. “’s the time?”

“Ten to seven.” Alex danced his fingers up to brush against the fine hairs at the nape of his mutant’s neck, chuckling at the groan that followed his words.

“Should’ve showed you the door the moment I knew you were an early riser.”

“Please, you could never withstand my charming personality.”

“Charming my ass!”

“Yes.” Alex smirked and pulled the sheets off Armando’s sleep-slow naked form, laughing at the immediate protest. “It is.”

They fitted together in the morning rays, skin against skin, bone against bone, scars against scars. Sometimes Alex thought they shouldn’t meld so well, the juvvie who glared at the world and the cabbie who always had a smile. They were two lives that would never have met if their genes hadn’t been just that little bit different.

Alex closed his eyes and let Armando’s name fall from his lips. Every so often he would pinch himself, just to be absolutely certain he wasn’t dreaming.

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